Inherited Talent
by irmaida
Summary: "Being the baker's wife, it's unreasonable for her to hate icing. But she hasn't touched a single tube of icing since that day. And of course her family doesn't dare cross her about it. Or maybe they just don't care." Winner of Starvation's July 2012 prompt: Icing. Centered around Mrs. Mellark, Peeta's mom.


_Inherited Talent_

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Eleanor Mellark hates icing.

There are many things she hates: rain, bad days when nobody came into the bakery, the Reaping, her stupid family, the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard, pointy objects, the Seam, and so on. Being the baker's wife, it's unreasonable for her to hate icing. But she hasn't touched a single tube of icing since _that _day. And of course her family doesn't dare cross her about it. Or maybe they just don't care.

She pounds the bread she is baking, more out of anger than necessity. The table shakes from the fierceness of her poundings. Nearby, her husband and three children, who are also making bread, hardly look up from their work. They are used to it and instead focus on their half-made bread. Bread. Bread, bread, bread. Day in, day out. She adds 'bread' to the forever-growing list of things she hates. She hates bread. And she hates being a baker's wife. She hates her stupid life.

But she hadn't always.

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Her parents owned a small fabric store in the merchant part of town. Business was always good. Fabric was one of those things that everyone needed, and they had no rival stores. So they never had any need to go hungry. In fact, they were one of the wealthiest families in District 12.

It was the last day of elementary school. Eleanor was excited, skipping along the path to school. Summer could not come fast enough. She was tired of homework and the history of Panem and her insanely strict teacher, Mrs. Kovac. In addition, her eleventh birthday was coming up a week after school ended, and she had a fistful of money as an early birthday gift from her parents. _Buy yourself whatever you want_, they had told her.

Of course, it hadn't been a completely happy day. It never was, not in her family. Her mother had wanted to give her a party. Her father had said it was a complete waste of money. They had argued about this and that, before her mother finally threw her a fistful of money and stormed out of the room. Eleanor knew that her parents weren't a part of a happy marriage. She often wondered why they had married, since they obviously didn't get along. She then swore to herself to never be stuck in the same situation.

But still, she was excited, because it was quite a bit of money. So many things she could buy! She sat through school, hardly paying attention to the lessons. She instead visualized the sort of things she would buy. New shoes, maybe? Or maybe, she would buy some food. Bacon and pumpkins and fresh strawberries…

She was still thinking about what to buy when the bell rang. She walked down the path home, past all the beautiful stores. So many things to buy. They were even having a sale at the toy store. But when she passed the bakery and caught whiff of the delicious smells coming out of the door, she knew what she wanted. She wanted one of those beautiful frosted cakes on the window display. She gazed at them for a while, debating which one to buy. She finally chose a light orange one. Orange was her favorite color. Sunset orange, to be more specific. But light orange was good enough.

The bell jingled as she went in.

The person managing the counter was a boy who looked around her age. He seemed familiar. It wasn't until she read his name tag, however, that she recognized him. He was in a couple of her classes at school.

"What would you like?" he asked.

"It's my birthday," she told him, "so I would like one of those cakes, please." She pointed at the window display. "The light orange one."

He brought the cake over to the counter. Up close, she could tell they were even more beautiful, with the light orange icing artfully swirled to make mini frosting flowers. Not tearing her eyes of the cake, she gave the boy her money.

He counted the money carefully. Then he frowned. "You're couple coins short. It's not enough."

_It's not enough_. The words crushed her. She couldn't have the cake. "Oh. I-I'm sorry. I-if there's anything cheaper in the store—"

But the boy looked at her with a mixture of pity and compassion and said, "You can have it. One dollar doesn't matter much. Think of it as a birthday present."

And she finally tore her eyes off the cake and looked at Adam Mellark, _really _looked at him. He really was quite handsome, and so… so… _kind_.

And as she took the cake, she knew she had completely fallen for him.

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On her nineteenth birthday, she had a sleepover with her best friend, Daisy. After she turned twelve, her parents hadn't given her anymore birthday presents. In District 12, after you turned twelve, there was no need to celebrate getting older. Getting older only meant a higher possibility of getting reaped. But now that she and Daisy were both nineteen (Daisy had turned nineteen two months before), they were both safe. Which called for a celebration.

Of course, they didn't actually _sleep _at the sleepover. She gave Daisy some candies from the Donner sweetshop, licorice and gummies and peppermint drops, and they talked and laughed and joked. Around halfway through the night, the conversation turned to boys.

"Who are _you _interested in?" she asked Daisy.

Even in the dark, Eleanor could feel Daisy blushing. "W-well…"

"Spit it out, Daisy!"

"Ethan Cartwright," she mumbled.

"The shoemaker's son?" she asked.

"Yeah…"

"He definitely likes you!" Eleanor declared. "Everybody likes you anyway." It was true. Nobody was invincible to Daisy's bright smiles and vibrant, open attitude. "Besides, I know the way he looks at you. You guys are _perfect _for each other!"

"Yeah, yeah," Daisy mumbled. But she quickly brightened. "Now it's your turn! Who do you like?"

Silence.

"Come on, I told you who I liked!" she complained.

"Okay, okay," she said. "Adam Mellark. The baker's son."

"I knew it!" said Daisy. "I'm sure you have a good shot! He just broke up with Annabel, didn't he?"

"No," she corrected. "Annabel broke up with him."

"Ah, details, details. I'm sure you have a good shot!" Daisy insisted. But Eleanor had a feeling that Daisy was just saying that to make her feel better. Daisy had always had a tendency to sugarcoat a little.

\

"You're nineteen years old, Eleanor," her dad was saying. "It's about time you've gotten married."

It was the morning after the sleepover, and Eleanor was too sleepy to actually pay attention to her father's speech. She looked down at the fabric she was cutting and realized that she had almost cut off an extra inch. _Oops._

"So your mother and I have chosen someone for you. He's from a very well-to-do merchant family," her father continued. "And he'll make sure that your future is financially secure."

_Wait, what?_ Suddenly, Eleanor was wide awake. "You've chosen someone for me to marry? How can you choose who I'm going to marry? Isn't that _my_ decision?"

"Don't overreact, Eleanor," said her mother with a roll of her eyes. "We're not _choosing_ for you Eleanor. We're just giving you a very high recommendation."

_Yeah right_, she thought. "Well, who is it?"

"Ethan Cartwright," said her father.

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"I'm not going to marry him."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm _not!_"

"Yes you _are!_"

"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!" she shrieked, stamping her foot.

"Eleanor, be _reasonable_," said her mother. "We've been arguing about this for the entire day. Give us one good reason."

"I've already given you three good reasons!" she exclaimed. "One, I don't like him. Two, he likes Daisy. Three, Daisy likes him! Three perfectly good reasons!"

"Nonsense!" her father said. "Those are three ridiculous reasons."

"You _said _this was just a recommendation!" she reminded them. "Daisy's my best friend! How can I just run off with her guy?" she said. "Daisy deserves this! And that is a perfectly good reason why I will not marry him!" There was another reason, too, a (she was ashamed to say) stronger reason, and that reason was Adam. She wouldn't marry Ethan when she was in love with someone else. It was these two reasons, working together, that made her adamant in her choice. But she kept this bit of information to herself.

Her parents were stubborn and insistent. "Look, your mother and I were also the result of an arranged marriage. Did you know that? And look how well it worked out—"

"It didn't work out well, and you know it!" Eleanor yelled, frustrated. Why couldn't they understand? And now, pretending that their marriage had worked out _well_… It was disgusting. Anybody could tell they were in love with anyone but each other.

"This is all your fault!" her father screamed, the yell directed towards her mother, before storming out of the room.

It was silent for a while after that.

Then her mother turned towards her and hissed, "Are you proud of yourself? Now you've ruined whatever remained of our marriage." Then she too stormed out of the room, leaving Eleanor bewildered, hurt, and crying.

\

After that, she and her family rarely spoke. They weren't a family anymore. The worst part was, her parents couldn't even get a divorce because divorce attorneys were expensive. In addition, a divorce would cause quite the scandal, and her parents had always been careful of what the neighbors thought. But the air in the household was always stuffy and filled with hatred and regrets. Every night, Eleanor could hear her parents arguing and sometimes even throwing things. But she'd won. And as quickly as she could, she got married, partially to escape, and partially because of Adam.

And she was happy.

She iced the cake that she was working on with beautiful frosting roses. Icing cakes always made her feel peaceful. She remembered the day when Adam had taught her, expecting for her to be clumsy, having never worked with icing before, and being astounded at how easily icing cakes came to her. She had an eye for art, he had told her. It had made her glow for days.

After she finished, she went to go visit the recently married Ethan and Daisy Cartwright at the shoe shop to buy some shoes for her second son, whose feet were growing fast. Daisy was behind the counter, her smile even more vibrant than usual.

"Guess what?" Daisy said, almost squealing.

"What?" she asked, bringing her purchase to the counter.

"I'm pregnant!" she said, really squealing this time. "The healer says that it's probably a girl. We're going to name her Delly."

"Really?" she asked. "That's great!" And she meant it.

A few weeks later, she learned that she was pregnant as well. She planned to name her third child Peeta.

Three children. What a beautiful number, she thought. It called for a celebration. So she started to frost a very special cake. A cake not for the customers, a cake for _them_. She saved up little amounts of money so that her family would be able to afford to eat this cake. She worked on it for days, using the special frosting colors and making sure every detail was perfect. The finished product was exquisite, with frosting roses the color of orange sunset.

Satisfied with it, she put it on the display window. Her husband would think it was just another cake for the customers. How surprised he would be when he learned it was for them. She smiled and went upstairs.

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She went upstairs to hear her second son complaining.

"These new shoes are uncomfortable," he was saying. "I want my old shoes back!"

Her husband, Adam, smiled at the small boy. "But those shoes were getting too small for you, little one. As for the new ones, you're just not used to them yet." He turned towards her, and their eyes met. And for a second, _it _happened again. A flicker of some… emotion that she was never quick enough to decipher. It looked almost like some sort of sadness. But why would he be sad? He loved her, didn't he? He was happy, wasn't he?

A bell jingled, signaling that a customer had come.

"I'll go get it," said Adam, heading downstairs. "You stay up here with the kids."

Right after he disappeared downstairs, her oldest son accidently spilled some juice. The liquid splattered all over his shirt and the ground. Eleanor shook her head and went to the cupboard to get some napkins, but they were all out. She knew there were some downstairs in the bakery.

"Come on," she said to the child, taking his hand. She padded downstairs into the bakery, grabbed the napkins, and was about to go back upstairs when she noticed that the customer that Adam was tending to was Annabel.

That wasn't the only thing she noticed. It was the look in her husband's eyes, so gentle and tender and loving.

"I can't afford that much, Adam," Annabel was saying.

Her husband shook her head. "For free." And Eleanor gasped as he took _the cake_, the cake she had worked so hard on, the cake with icing of orange sunset. No! He wouldn't _dare _to give a cake like that for free. But he did. She watched as he wrapped it up and gave it to Annabel. And she watched her husband's eyes. They were filled such a deep, strong love. A love that was never directed towards her.

The jingling of the bell alerted her that Annabel had left. And that was when she revealed herself.

"What was that all about?" she demanded.

He turned to her, and she saw that his eyes were filled with pain. He said nothing, only looked at her with those pain-filled eyes.

"You love her," she whispered. She waited for him to deny it, to assure her that he only loved her, but he said nothing. And that was when she knew.

"You never loved me."

Again, no response. Just those pained, pleading eyes.

She was wrong. She hadn't won. Hadn't won anything. Did Adam know? How much she had given up for him? Did he know that she had ruined her parents' marriage, and that she never spoke to her family anymore? For him? Did he know how much his silence was killing her?

Her oldest son tugged at her sleeve. "Mommy, you have to wipe up that spill, remember?"

And then, something in her snapped, something changed. And she was disgusted, revolted, by her son, by her husband, by everything. _Slap! _"Go wipe it up yourself!"

After that, she never iced a cake ever again.

\

Someone taps her arm, snapping Eleanor Mellark out of her reverie.

"Mother?" Peeta, her youngest son, asks. "Do you know where the orange fondant is? I need to ice this cake…"

"No!" she automatically snaps. Snapping comes so naturally to her now. "We have no orange fondant in this bakery, you dummy! In order to make orange fondant, you mix red and yellow until you get the perfect shade, you dolt!"

Peeta doesn't even mind her snapping. He just seems happy that he's discovered the secret to orange fondant. She watches as he carefully mixes, adding dabs of red and yellow, until he gets the perfect shade of sunset orange, her favorite color. As she watches him, with his brow furrowed and that peaceful expression on his face, he reminds her of… _herself_. Before Adam had given her masterpiece away to Annabel.

Her face automatically gets doubly sour. But she can't stop watching as Peeta uses his inherited talent to make a masterpiece of his own. He looks so peaceful…

She tears her eyes away from her son. Icing cakes doesn't bring her peace anymore. She will never ice a cake ever again.

And this is why she hates icing, because icing brings back visions of that _horrible _day. Icing reminds her that she doesn't have a family, not really. Icing reminds her that the family she was born into has been torn apart, and the family that she has married into has rejected her. Icing reminds her that Adam doesn't love her, never has and never will. Icing reminds her that she is stuck in an unhappy marriage, even after she had sworn not to.

Icing reminds her that nobody loves her.

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_(A/N: Everyone goes on about how good Peeta is with icing, but he must've inherited his talent from _somebody_. I kept this in mind when writing this fic. Hope you enjoyed. R&R, please?)_


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